


Purpose

by altairattorney



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Harm to Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altairattorney/pseuds/altairattorney
Summary: The truth isn't that you do not want to. The truth is that you can't. Am I right?
Relationships: Kuro | The Divine Heir & Sekiro | Wolf
Kudos: 44





	Purpose

There is a bitter irony in Genichiro's fate.

It is all he can think of as he watches the castle burn. To keep himself there, his feet planted firmly on the muddy ground, drains every ounce of resolve he has. He would want nothing more than to draw his sword and fight – to protect the dying body of his land, to rid it of all screams and bloodshed and fire.

Even so, Genichiro knows the truth about himself. Even here, in the midst of the inevitable, he cannot afford to ignore it. Like his duties, it has grown heavier with every passing year – and now that Ashina is almost done for, its weight is almost too crushing for him to bear.

He knows too well – alone, like this, he cannot help.

So it goes; in that field he has to stand, in chilling silence, even if it means waiting until the end of time. He stays, and keeps his attention firm on the darkness of the tunnel. If his instinct is whispering the truth, his only chance to avert this tragedy will walk out of there soon.

Indeed, he does not have to wait long. In the space of a heartbeat, he sees the silvergrass wave a little more harshly than the evening breeze commands it to.

Very cautious, as ever. Still not enough to hide from his desperate stare.

“Divine Heir,” he calls, and his voice booms like thunder in the deserted field. “You finally arrived.”

Though he expected Kuro to be a disheveled mess, the sight of him lights a spark of surprise in the turmoil of his feelings. His eyes are glassy and absent, swollen by past tears he is too proud to show anyone. His cheeks are concealed by the loose strands of his hair, glued to his face by ashes and sweat.

A part of him would have felt pity, had he not lost it a long time ago.

“Lord Genichiro – ”

“No,” he commands. For a moment, Kuro is too weak to fight back.

The boy is alive and unharmed, as he expected him to be. That he is alone is a little more surprising. But Genichiro is well-prepared, and he is just as aware it will not last long.

It occurs to him that, if they are left alone for a while, there might even be time to make things clearer. To test the waters, and find an answer to his restless suspicions.

Not that it will change his plan, of course.

“I knew I would find you here, sooner or later,” he says, with a touch of calculated care that sends a shiver down Kuro's spine. “I learnt from my mistakes. I admit I was never a good judge of your character – I underestimated you, Divine Heir, and what you were capable of. But things have changed.”

If not his alliance, at least he knows he has the boy's attention. Even his hollow gaze radiates a presence, a deep intelligence. The sight makes his past self feel even stupider.

“You are smart for your age. There were so many things I had not yet pieced together about you. But now that I understand, I hold your mind in much higher esteem.”

He walks closer to him. Even if he can sense Kuro's fear, the boy does not move away. Genichiro realizes they are engaged in a battle of intellects – one he, to his detriment, never bothered to care about before.

“It is far too late to dwell on the past,” he continues. “Regardless, I think I have it all figured out. You are not cruel – quite the opposite. You loathe violence and bloodshed, it showed over and over. Neither of us ever wanted any of this to happen. Yet you did not help me, and here we are.”

It is hard to contain the fury in his veins, as his battered arm points to the column of smoke. Kuro winces, and takes the smallest steps back. He still does not speak.

“You would have done anything,” he declares, his voice starting to twist in a snarl. “ _Anything,_ to prevent more suffering. But somehow, because of you, the death toll is so high that Ashina is almost gone.”

He revels in the meaning of his own words – to think that, after all, the fault is not only his own. The biggest chance was never in his hands. It relieves him, and fuels his distaste further.

"You could have ended this any time you wanted. You could have shared your oath with me, and yet you never did. Why?”

When Kuro hesitantly opens his mouth to speak, Genichiro reaches for the hilt of his sword. He is giving in to the controlling side, the undercurrent in his veins that longs for revenge. But it is only a gesture – he can repress it.

He lowers his hand again, and crouches to meet the exact height of Kuro's face.

“I think I know why, Divine Heir,” he says, more and more restless. “The truth isn't that you do not want to. The truth is that you can't. Am I right?”

Kuro steps further back, suddenly pale as moonlight. There is no telling what might be on his mind; but Genichiro's soul clenches, in a triumphant wave of satisfaction and anger. He is at once furious and impressed, with his lacerating love for his homeland ever present in the background.

“There is no more of your immortality to give,” he explains more to himself than to the boy. “You threw your one chance away years ago. And all along, while the undoing of our own family and home unfolded under your very eyes, you _lied to me._ ”

“I... what?”

The feeble response to his unwinding revelations throws even more fuel on Genichiro's impatience.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he barks. “I, in turn, cannot say I understand your choices. That you may have wasted your oath unknowingly, maybe I can imagine – and I cannot deny, from what I have seen of him, that he is an excellent tool. But your commitment to hiding it now, in such troubled times... that is beyond me.”

He stands up and walks forward firmly, once again stunning a lost Kuro into silence.

“Make no mistake, I see _why_ you concealed the truth. It was to give me false hope... to stall for time. But for what?

His knuckles, charred by lightning and dirt, tighten hard enough to show a trace of whiteness.

"As long as he lives, your gift cannot be mine – when I spoke those words, I was none the wiser. But you knew – the moment he died, the gift would truly be yours to give again. How is it that you deemed _him_ more important? How could you choose to protect his life at the cost of your own homeland?”

“Lord Genichiro. You are–”

“I am not quite finished.”

Despite the ghost of his admiration for Kuro, Genichiro is boiling with contempt when he interrupts him. Images of a possible future, one of victory and preservation of all he holds dear, flash across his imagination – so close and so out of reach, like water slipping through his fingers.

It would all have been his reality, today, if only not for him. For them.

“I was not telling you false words, Divine Heir,” he continues, controlling his temper with an unsteady grip. “I recognize you as anything but naïve. You did what you wanted, and were shrewd in doing so. As for your motivations... whether you were childish or selfish for putting your needs over those of all your countrymen, I am not sure. But now that all is lost for us – almost – you have to grow out of it, whether you like it or not.”

Lit by the glistening of distant fire, Genichiro draws the Mortal Blade from his back, and lets the smoky essence of the metal soar in the night sky. Losing his resolve, Kuro falls back and sits, the slightest hint of tremor showing at the rim of his robes.

Genichiro has no intention to hurt him. It would not be wise to risk Kuro's life, especially if he wants things to go according to plan. But the imposing sense of power, the looming possibilities of manipulating him, course through his arm with every light swing of the odachi.

“I repeat, I learnt from my mistakes,” he says, his tone as smooth as it is threatening. “I know as well as you do your shinobi could never bear the shame of failing again.”

The sharp edge of the sword draws a half-circle on the ground, inches away from Kuro's feet, like the walls of a cage he is slowly building.

“He is hollow like that, you know. Fighting skills or not, whether you see it or not, he is still what he is. He has _nothing_ – no beliefs, no will, no higher purposes to serve. Nothing to live for but the pitiful fixation on his duties. Like you, he had much better options; like you, he rejected them. So, once he gets here, I will make sure he goes to the utmost length to maintain his senseless honor.”

The widening of the boy's dark eyes says it all, and Genichiro feels a hint of triumph somewhere within his sea of misery. It will be so much easier, he thinks, to convince a defenseless and terrified Kuro to have his way.

“He will risk his life to bring you home,” he repeats, in mockery. “Let him have his way. He will give it here, in this field, before it happens. And once he is out of the picture, you will be free to make the choice you should have made a long time ago.”

Genichiro's gaze burns like coal into Kuro's soul, even as he retreats a little and gets his blade farther from the boy's frail limbs. His eyes glide to the secret passage again, for a few moments. They meet no movement.

“We still seem to have time to ourselves. Rise, Divine Heir.”

Although Kuro gets back on his feet gracefully, there is decision in every movement of his muscle. The ground lost to his fear is taken over by obstinacy. If nothing else, Genichiro is entertained – the little game of their discussion distracts him from the agonizing screams of his soldiers, just a short distance away.

“So it is your turn to speak,” he concedes. “Now is your chance to explain yourself. You may tell me why you lied to me, why you doomed us all, and why you choose so poorly – ah, of course,” he adds with a light, mocking grin, “if I was right about the things I told you.”

His veins sing with the prospect of his victory. That his forced reverence of the past has crumbled, and his pleas have turned into threats, Genichiro cannot pay mind to. His home is aflame, and it is too late for his behavior to respect the courteous standards of this noble boy. The sword, unsheathed for the shinobi, rambles to the sinews in his hand, begging for more blood.

Genichiro talks the whispers down. He is close, so close, to getting what he wants. Just one dead man away from sealing the deal, from bringing Ashina back from the grave.

And yet, when the air gets just a little too tense – when Genichiro starts to believe the boy will crack, giving in to the terror for his life – Kuro breaks the silence.

“It doesn't matter.”

The warrior stares at his small figure, at his clenched fists, barely visible under his wide kimono.

“What?”

Kuro takes a deep, strong breath, and Genichiro imagines it to be scalding.

“Whether I can or cannot give you the Heritage, here and now, has no importance whatsoever,” Kuro responds, with a calm that feels almost supernatural. “I would never have accepted you into my oath, and I never will, no matter how many more times you ask.”

The answer takes Genichiro by surprise with such a depth of feeling that the Mortal Blade almost falls to the ground. His senses are heightened by the craze of despair, and his grasp becomes painfully aware of the sweat against the hilt.

“Explain yourself,” he growls.

“I cannot explain,” Kuro insists, with growing decisiveness. “Whatever the truth is, lord Genichiro, it is you who makes it irrelevant. You value your thoughts and beliefs over my own. Keep them, then – I don't care how entitled you feel to what is mine to give.”

Genichiro sees the young boy lift his head, and his eyes burn scorching holes into his own gaze. The impertinence of that answer is clouding his thoughts. The choir of mad voices at his core gets ever closer – to save Ashina, to fight back, to get revenge.

A sliver of better judgement still prevails, now as feeble as a worn cord.

“I told you you are smart, Divine Heir. Surely you realize you are in no position to make such claims.”

Kuro remains locked in a defiant, pensive silence. The warrior sees a million thoughts running across his little head. From the haze his mind is slowly losing itself in, he tries to predict many things – his next words, the outcome of his plan, how much time they have left before the undead demon jumps at his throat with his useless blade.

When the boy speaks again, he processes the sound of his voice with great difficulty.

“I heard what you told him on the rooftop, you know.”

He is too lost, too surprised, to recall or ask further. This time around, it his him who lets Kuro speak. And as he walks forward, with growing courage and initiative, Genichiro barely notices he is backing away from him.

“You asked him why he serves me,” Kuro says slowly, disgust dripping from every syllable. “What his purpose might be, his ulterior motive. I was listening to every word. You did not understand him, that is what you said. And you were speaking the truth; you didn't back then, you don't now. You will sooner take my life than force the Heritage out of me – because you are not him, and, unlike him, you can _never_ understand.”

The ring of Kuro's voice brings some clarity back to his own soul. And in that split second, molten among the pieces of the bold claim he just heard, Genichiro sees something so deep in those brown eyes that he fails to wind his consciousness around it.

He does not get it. Maybe he won't. But he sees, distinct, the trace of something completely alien to him. Something ardent and pure like the pyre of his lost land, something so far away it is divine, something which, even in eternity – and that he truly comprehends, for a split second – he will never find and will never have.

It was his plan to bring Genichiro to the field; but now, within the swift move of his weapon, no trace of his intentions can be found. He swings the Mortal Blade like a foul spirit, grazing Kuro's chest without a reason he can identify.

And the boy screams so loud – an inhuman sound to him, because of his words, because of the force of his gaze. The truth Kuro revealed has torn his heart out.

The scream echoes, unbearable, in the hollow space it left. The immensity of that abyss makes him deaf and blind.  
  
He never sees the orange-clad figure that comes running from the mouth of the tunnel.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story about Genichiro and Kuro talking in the field, but I was uncertain whether to make this theory of mine the subject of it or not: https://altairattorney.tumblr.com/post/187093724663/sekiro-speculation-the-oath-bound-theory  
> I found the satisfactory answer, which is a very Fromsoft solution of throwing the idea out there via Genichiro and neither confirming it or denying it. It made for, I think, a more compelling story than I originally intended, and I hope it works well.  
> I especially hope I captured endgame, almost superhuman Genichiro in a good way.  
> Thank you so so much for my new Twitter friend - you know who you are - for the brainstorming and the discussion!


End file.
